Memories Fleeting
by SerenityFalconNormandy
Summary: Written for the Dragon Age Reddit Weekly Writing Prompt: Apple Gwyneth finds out about the sacking of Highever.


Denerim's marketplace was a cacophony of colors and sound. Even with the light, misting rain the lanes between the stalls were crowded with people purchasing spices, fabrics, food, and other goods. Gwyn was glad for the hooded cloak Arl Eamon had given her back in Redcliffe, it covered her ears and hid the bits of her armor that had Warden heraldry on it. With all the hustle and bustle going on around her, she suspected that even if she did have her armor showing, it wouldn't do anything.

There had been 'Wanted' posters at the city gates. The artistry was so poor, the heraldry on it looked more like a misshapen bird than a griffon, and the portraits of Alistair and her were more potato-like than likeness. Thank the Maker. Even still, she gripped Spellweaver's hilt, and kept her coin purse in her breastplate. This was supposed to be just a stop on the way to Orzammar, as their supplies were dangerously low.

Gwyn followed Alistair from stall to stall with Wynne and Leliana, letting him take the lead, although he didn't realize it. Even with her ears covered and Hero trotting at her side with a small pull-cart harnessed to him, a few of the merchants had realized she was an elf, and tried to overcharge. Alistair and Leliana had helped her understand more of what items should cost since she knew nothing of it from the Circle, but simply being an elf meant the merchants weren't willing to haggle, saying she could take the higher price or nothing. If she had Alistair play the part of a knight with an elven servant, he could get a good price, as she handed him the coin from the purse. If- no, when- they removed Loghain and spoke to Queen Anora, she hoped Her Majesty would take the necessary steps to change things. Overcharging the poorest people of the city, knowing that they had no choice but to pay the inflated price or go without, was wrong.

Sten, Morrigan, and Shale were at their camp outside the city walls. A grey giant, comparatively naked apostate, and giant golem were all but impossible to hide, even in the throngs of citizens and refugees. Zevran was sitting in a tavern listening to gossip for them, gathering valuable tidbits of information about the Blight and the sentiment of the capital city. Wynne was at Alistair's elbow, surreptitiously using magic to check the salt beef and pork he was purchasing for safety. Across the lane, Leliana was looking at sacks of dried beans, grain, and tack. At the far end of the row, Gwyn could see a stall piled with green, red, yellow, and orange. Fresh food, something they really hadn't had since the Dalish camp. It made her mouth water.

Alistair turned and held out his hand for coin for the meats, and as she counted them into his hand, she murmured, "Ser, might we hit the stall with the fresh produce next?"

Wynne cut off the beginning of a protest, "We all need something fresh, Ser. One cannot live on tack, beans, and salt pork alone."

"All right. Onward, then." Alistair slung the sacks of salt beef and pork into Hero's pull-cart, and plunged into the masses in the lane, Gwyn and Wynne following in his wake. Leliana fell into step with them, adding the sacks of grain and beans to the cart then patting Hero on the head in appreciation for his help.

The laysister let out a cry of delight when she spotted fresh peaches, and Wynne immediately began digging through a basket of cherries. While Alistair looked over bunches of carrots, Gwyn found herself drawn to the vines of tomatoes. Looking up to ask the stallkeep for the price, she stopped when she spotted a small basket hanging out of reach. Seven apples were on display, mostly yellow with a rosy red blush spreading out from the stem. Highever apples. She hadn't had one in years. Teyrna Eleanor had sent her some for Satinalia every year, but they always ended up being taken away to be served to the Templars.

"Gwynnie, don't you like oranges?" Alistair nudged her side, pointing to another basket.

She nodded, "Every Satinalia, it was what I looked forward to the most."

He signalled to the stallkeep, "Half a dozen of the oranges, please. Anything else?"

"How much are the Highever apples?" Gwyn asked, not taking her eyes off the fruits.

"They're fifty silver apiece, ma'am."

"_Fifty_ silver? Maker's sake, why? Is it the Blight?"

The woman looked uncomfortable, "No, ma'am. When Teyrn Howe took over the teyrnir, many in Highever refused to work… from what I hear, the crop was left to rot in the orchards for the most part. Created scarcity, it did. Bleeding shame."

"Teyrn Howe? What happened to the Couslands?"

The stallkeep gave her an incredulous look, "Where have you been, that you haven't heard?"

"Pardon, Mistress, my colleagues and I have been on the road, and all our messengers went astray." Alistair jumped in, gripping Gwyn's hand in the shadow of their cloaks.

"The Teyrn and Teyrna were plotting with Orlais, or so the Crown says," the woman's voice lowered, "Personally, I don't believe it. They were heroes who helped end the Occupation, you know? Anyhow, King Loghain says they were traitors, and Teyrn Howe overthrew them to save the country. Or so the Crown says. Killed them all, from what I heard through the grapevine. Even the Teyrn's grandson. He was just a little boy, couldn't have been part of the plot. That alone makes me suspicious."

"Maker have mercy…" Gwyn was inundated with the memories she had, however blurry, of Highever and the Couslands. Splashing in puddles in the keep courtyard with Elissa, Papa Torven swinging her up onto his shoulders to take her with him to the mabari kennels, Teyrna Eleanor smiling and patting her on the head when she gave a perfect curtsey. She felt lightheaded, trying to process everything.

"Wynne, take the coin purse. Get everything in the pile next to Leliana, and one of the apples."

"But-"

"The cost doesn't matter, Wynne. Not right now. Hero, stay with them." The mabari barked, then whined in unhappiness.

Alistair pulled Gwyn away, walking her down the lane to sit under the awning outside one of the taverns. "Breathe, Gwynnie."

She gripped his hands tightly, unable to speak. His face was hard, eyes flinty. "He's declared himself king, did you hear that? Once we have the dwarves and we've sent the Archdemon to the void, we're marching back here and I'm going to knock that crown off his head myself and become King just to spite him. For Duncan, and Cailan."

She nodded. "What about Queen Anora?"

The hardness melted to worry. "I don't know. We'll have to see, get the lay of the land. Maybe Zevran will hear something we can use?"

"Maker, I hope so."

Wynne and Leliana joined them, and Hero whined and placed his head in Gwyn's lap, sensing her distress. She patted his square head, only looking up when Alistair took her hand and placed the apple in her palm.

"Here. Eat up."

Obediently, she took a bite, feeling the skin break under her teeth, and the warm, sweet-tart juice flooded her mouth. The apple scent flooded her nose, and Gwyn remembered sitting next to Elissa at a lesson table, eating bites of apple given to them as a reward for being able to spell words correctly.

It was as sweet as ever - and yet tasted like death and ashes and old memories - even as she took another bite. Would she ever be able to stomach another Highever apple after the Blight was over?


End file.
